


You're the Measure of my Dreams

by sullenhearts



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/pseuds/sullenhearts
Summary: Current AU where they're married as fuck





	

Title: **You're the Measure of my Dreams**  
Pairing: Pete/Carl  
Genre: Current AU  
Rating: General  
Notes: Only exists because of Lucinda being amazing/into boats, and Sam putting this song on a mix CD last week  
Teaser: Based on the Pogues song _A Rainy Night In Soho_ , the lyrics of which are [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/pogues/arainynightinsoho.html), and the video of which I'll embed:

  
  


I’ve been loving you a long time  
Down all the years, down all the days  
And I’ve cried for all your troubles  
Smiled at your funny little ways

 

We played a gig. We’re a current band that does that, you know. I’m still not used to it. I still think The Libertines are an ex-concern, no longer profitable. Certainly not together, and certainly not like we are now. 

Certainly not wrapped up in each other, living on the boat and somehow managing to not drive each other mental. 

I’ve been loving you for so long now, for over half of our lives. Even when I didn’t think I loved you, I did. I cared so much what happened to you, and I cried for all your troubles. Even those I caused. 

And I suppose you’ll never really the understand the nights I spent worrying myself sick over you, the nights, days, weeks, where I jumped at every phone call, expecting it to be your mum, her voice faltering as she told me the news. Accidental overdose, she’d tell everyone, but no one believed her. Or maybe you’d leave a note, so there was no room for discussion. I dreaded that day for years. 

Now, I guess, I’m your next of kin, and that feels right. I should be the first to know if anything happened. Hopefully not drugs-related, although I know better than anyone that it might happen – is perhaps even _likely_ to happen. 

I worry. Every hour of my life, I worry if you’re okay. You’ve been through a lot. 

Except for when we’re on stage. I don’t worry about you at all then. I look at you, usually beaming with happiness, and I see the shy eighteen year old who just wanted to impress me so badly. The feeling was mutual you know. I tried so hard to hide it, but I wanted you to think I was cool.

Anyway, the gig. Good crowd, mental row at the barrier, as usual. Mosh pit bouncing, even in the slow ones. Remember when we saw Oasis? During their slow ones everyone fucked off to the bar. In our slow ones everyone grabs their mate to sing soulfully to them. I know how they feel. Those are the times I want to kiss you the most. 

Once upon a time we’d have stayed out all night, ending up too fucked up to remember where we’d been. These days we go and talk to the fans outside, making sure everyone gets the selfies they want, and then we come home. I never really understood the idea of home as sanctuary until we bought the boat. This place cocoons us. I’ve finally got a home worth losing. 

You make tea. Quick flick of the kettle, reaching for two mugs from the shelf. English Breakfast for me, something floral for you. Your mug says “World’s Best Dad” on it. Steely bought it for you. You think you’re a terrible dad but the fact is he adores you and he has a home here too. That back room is his, chaotic and cosy. Love him. Love him for his own sweet self, of course, but I love him because he reminds me of you, too. One day soon he’s going to form his own genre-defining band, you know, and then we’ll officially be too old for all of this. 

Too much milk, love, but thanks. I follow you up to the roof of the boat, light a cigarette, sit next to you on the bench. You go over to the record player – fucking hipster, I do love you – and put something on.

“You dancing?” you ask, holding your hand out.

“You asking?” I look up, but your face is almost entirely in darkness. I sense your smile rather than see it.

“I’m asking.”

“Then I’m dancing.” I set my tea down carefully and stand up, stepping into your space. You smell soapy, clean-shaven. I kiss your neck softly, then tuck myself into your shoulder, one arm on the small of your back and the other on your hip. You’re humming along to the song close in my ear. I could stay here all night, until the sun comes up and our bodies are sore with the exertion of the gig. Not so young as we used to be, are we?

You spin me away from you gently, keeping tight hold as the boat sways beneath us. You’d never think we were in the city. Apart from the music, the only thing I can hear is the bobbing of the buoys on the mooring, the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat. The good ship sails on, Bilo, second star to the right and straight on til morning. 

I’m not singing for the future – what we have right now is enough. I can’t tell you what tomorrow holds, so I concentrate on today, embrace the joy I feel just now, and try to quash the rest. 

I step back in time with you, feet shuffling against the metal floor, squeak of a trainer as I turn.

I’m not dreaming of the past – dreams, or nightmares? Too much water under the bridge for much nostalgia. Too painful, causes aching in my stomach that I can’t settle with coke or whiskey anymore. We fucked up. Both of us. 

I’m not talking of the first time – all the first times I had with you. Yeah, that, you dirty minded little fuck, but all the other stuff too. First time someone paid us for a gig. First time someone recognised us on the street. First time we sold out a show. First time we got high, and higher, first time we both crashed so low I honestly thought we’d die. First time we said I love you. First time we meant it. 

First time we broke up. First time you told me you didn’t want to be in the band anymore. 

See, there’s that aching in me guts again. 

I turn you under my arm, listening to you breathe a laugh softly, still singing along. Beautiful song, this. Good choice, love. 

I never think about the last. The last anything. My therapist says I’m future averse. I say I’m practical, pragmatic, just greeting what comes with my arms wide open. That made him laugh, the fucker. 

Truth is, I already had enough lasts with you. Enough for three lifetimes over. I won’t count them anymore.

Now the song is nearly over. I kiss you, stretching slightly to meet your lips. You put your arms around my neck. My fingers must be cold because you hiss when I touch under your shirt. It’s starting to drizzle, that misty rain that comes in most nights on the river. I could stay here all night, though, with the measure of my dreams.


End file.
